Breaking the window: Expedition to Hyperborea

Chapter 12: A girl lies dying…

"I must confess that I was regrettably unable to fulfil my duties as expedition chronicler just after to the boarding by Thulian Neo-Vikings, for obvious reasons. Since my own recollections are hazy at best and distorted at worst, I was forced to rely on third party sources, but rest assured I have corroborated all accounts to make sure I am still able to provide an accurate portrayal of the course of events."

- Bellatrix Black, Expedition to Hyperborea, published 2006

In the aftermath of the raid, what should have been a simple day of preparing the Kingfisher to continue her journey further north, ended up in a situation of organised chaos. What crew had been uninjured had been tasked with checking the hull for damage after the fight, as well as critical areas of the ship such as the rudder, the wheelhouse, the sanctum chamber and the sails.

Hermione, however, paid the bustle little mind, as she had something far more urgent to deal with. The small sickbay had already filled up with injured crew. Beodul sat on a bench cradling his obviously broken arm, Eliam had a nasty looking headwound and Old Engrim had all the signs of a severe concussion. The most urgent patient, however, was Bellatrix.

She had left a trail of blood behind her leading all the way up to the above deck and blood was still pouring out of her arm at such a rate that Big-Mouth put a pail underneath her arm after having put her on the stretcher. Hermione's breath caught in her throat when she saw just how awful Bellatrix looked: ashen grey skin, drenched in sweat, her hair matted, bags under her eyes. She almost looked skeletal and gaunt, having lost all colour in her face. Her eyes were dull and wide, roaming across the room in a state of delirium.

Hermione took her hand and squeezed it softly. "I'm here, Trix," said Hermione. "It's going to be alright. I love you so much…"

Zipper landed on Bellatrix' chest, unsure of what to do, while Big-Mouth examined her. More and more blood kept pouring out of the wounds of her arm. At this rate, she'd be likely to bleed out within the hour. God, her hand felt so cold… The Transylvanian vampire doctor poured some essence of dittany on the wounds. The carves in her arm seemed to respond and tightened a bit, but the wounds remained open and bleeding.

"Tourniquet," he muttered and ripped open a cupboard to grab all the needed equipment. He put a strap with a buckle around the wounded arm above the elbow and jerked it tightly before wrapping heavy bandages around her lower arm in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

"She's lost so much blood," said Hermione with a worried tone.

"Tell me something I don't know!" the vampire snapped at her. "The wound refused to close. That dagger was well and truly cursed."

Hermione's eyes grew wide when the vampire swiped a finger through the pail of blood and brought it to his mouth. With swift rising anger, Hermione was about to give the vampire a serious piece of her mind when Big-Mouth's expression turned foul and spit it out while coughing. "CACAT!" he exclaimed. "This is what I was afraid of. These wounds are far too deep and her blood has become tainted as a result. Her blood is now spreading the curse through her entire body!"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat: of course a vampire would know a thing or two about blood from the mere taste of it. But what he had just said didn't fill her with hope.

"Our problem is two-fold," said the vampire while shining a light in Bellatrix' eyes to gauge her reaction. "She has a cursed wound which won't close, leading to massive blood loss. And what blood remains is poisoning her entire body."

"Surely you have blood-replenishing potions on hand?" stressed Hermione.

The vampire snorted. "We should absolutely not use those, fool girl!" he said. "This is why I am a doctor and you are not."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms defensively. "I beg your pardon?!"

"Blood-replenishing potion works by magical multiplying the blood that's left in the body," said the vampire.

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. "… which, in Trix' case, is tainted. And that will spread the curse even quicker."

"Exactly," said the vampire. "What's her blood-type?"

"O positive," said Hermione. "Why?"

The vampire grinned as he produced a kit containing needles and what looked to be plastic tubes. "Same as Captain Kirk, Chiputec, Oswald and Irrena. Excellent. I'll have the wasps gather them and then we can set up a rotation for blood transfusions. Getting enough clean blood in her system will keep her from bleeding out and significantly delay the curse from spreading."

Hermione nodded, relief washing over her. Many healer she knew were completely out of their depths when magical options were not applicable and when more traditional medical solutions such as a transfusion was necessary. She was glad to learn that Big-Mouth was not one of them. "We still have the original dagger that made the wounds," she said. "We can use it to find an antidote and protect her from the worst effects of the curse."

"That might not help us," he said in response. "My facilities are limited."

"But I am a researcher, we have sensitive magical detection equipment on board and a qualified operator. And we have a savant," said Hermione. "We can do this."

"First forty-eight hours of a curse are crucial," said Big-Mouth. "But she won't last those forty-eight hours if you don't find that antidote today. We'll buy you the time you need, but you must still hurry."

"Understood," said Hermione. "I have a cursed wound of my own for cross-referencing. We might even use that as a base-point."

Hermione, with grim determination, was about to move to the passenger deck to find Chandra and Tahki to get to work, when she almost ran right into Copperhead just as he was running into the sickbay. In his arms was the weak form of a wasp. Seagull, downed by a lightning bolt, looked awful: her chitinous hide was blacked and charred on one side, she was missing a leg and there was a large hole burned in one of her wings. The gruff sailor had tears in his eyes as he petted his friend. Her antennae twitched as she cuddled close against his chest, pressing her mandibles into his skin. "Doctor!" Copperhead yelled, desperation on his voice. "Seagull is hurt! Help her!"

Hermione's heart broke when the wasp stopped moving in the man's arms. The vampire had already seen it and moved to confirm what he and Hermione already knew. His stethoscope pressed against the body of wasp, moving it back and forth. "I'm sorry, Copperhead," he shook his head after confirming Seagull's death. The three wasps that had followed Copperhead in were obviously in mourning as well, quietly hovering in the air around Copperhead holding Seagull while their antennae drooped. Zipper was in a similar state, having turned around on Bellatrix' chest and refusing to leave her, but looking in Seagull's direction with those same drooping antennae.

The gruff sailor started trembling, sinking to his knees while starting to sob loudly. Beodul jumped off the bench and paced his good hand on his shoulder. Eliam did the same, trying to comfort the wailing sailor. Hermione would have stayed to comfort the man, but she was on the clock. And she didn't want to be in Copperhead's position half a day from now.

Again, Captain Kirk found himself faced with a rather interesting dilemma. In front of him, in his quarters, stood the blonde Neo-Viking. Stripped of her armour, she was now clad in a simple shirt… the largest one they had on hand and yet it didn't reach the hem of her trousers and the sleeves looked ready to burst. He would have to ask Haema to moonlight as a seamstress to get her something proper fitting. Even though the blonde woman's head almost reached the ceiling, she hardly seemed intimidating right now. In fact, poking through her facade of stoicism, she seemed dejected to the point of being demure. A once proud warrior woman was not brought down and she might have well been an inch tall that point, weighed down but uncertainly and confusion.

Chiputec and Irrena flanked her nervously, wands in hand. Kirk supposed she could still be dangerous, but he doubted she would harm them in her current state.

The captain walked over to the table where her confiscated armour and axe lay, and lifted the axe. Or tried to, at least. The axe was bloody heavy, that was for sure. Maybe thirty kilograms of sheer fighting force. He could barely lift it with two hands, let alone with one like the Neo-Viking had done.

"My axe is yours," spoke the woman suddenly in accented voice, starting both crewmembers. It was the first time she had spoken since being captured. No, captured was the wrong word. The woman had simply been left behind. The words she had spoken were in a soft tone. Almost pleading, if he didn't know any better.

"You bet your arse it is," he returned, studying the axe more closely. "Fine birchwood handle. And look at these carvings. Runic patterns from top to bottom. Jormungandr, the world serpent, correct? Steel rings to bolster the handle's strength. Bronze rings for decoration and those etchings represent Freyja, do they not? Your patron goddess? Core of Lightning Narwhal horn. Rare, but will conduct both lightning and magic just fine."

The captain put down the axe and turned to look the Neo-Viking in the eye. "This axe is an expensive piece of art. Clearly you are no ordinary raider."

"Queen's honour guard!" Almost on instinct the Viking raised her head with pride, only to lower it again with shame. "Former…"

"And now you offer your axe to me?" Kirk crossed his arms. "Just like that?"

The Neo-Viking said nothing. Apparently there was some sort of honour thing going on, but Kirk wasn't exactly having it. "Why were you here?"

"Orders from the Queen," said the woman. "She did not elaborate."

"And you didn't ask?"

"One does not question the orders of Queen Ealdwynn," she replied stoically.

Chiputec snorted. "Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die," he said, snorting to himself. "A fine drone we have caught here."

"Well," he said. "We have no brig and we're already too far from any settlements of note. If we weren't, I would have just handed you over to the mounties and have them deal with you in my stead. As it stands… it's not as if we can lock you up in the laundry room for the duration of the trip. So yes. I will have your axe and it will stay under lock and key."

The Neo-Viking's eyes grew wide with horror and indignation. "You… you cannot rob me of my axe! I need it! It is…"

"All you are going to need for the coming months is a mop and a bucket!" Kirk raised his voice slightly. "Because you'll be working for your food and board, just like everyone else on board this ship!"

The Neo-Viking looked as if she was going to protest, but then raised her chin up high and nodded. "I will perform any task you deem fit to assign me," replied the woman. Kirk was admittedly surprised by this quick answer and studied her expression for a moment. She seemed to be quite sincere and it spoke of her character. Still, she would have to be watched closely for the time being at least and he knew she wouldn't be popular with the crew, as he could easily tell from the shocked faces of Irrena and Chiputec.

"Captain," said Irrena. "You can't be serious. Blondie tried to kill us just a few hours ago."

"I never did!" protested the Neo-Viking. "On my honour, I never did! Our orders were to scout below decks and leave everyone unharmed, nothing more. It was Ragnar who acted without honour and started a fight he wasn't supposed to start!"

"And yet you were the one left behind," said Kirk, rubbing his chin. This didn't make sense to him. This blonde Neo-Viking didn't seem quite the type to be a spy or an agent. And yet she was a very capable warrior with a high rank whom had just been… tossed aside. Kirk could tell by the grief-stricken look in the woman's eyes that it made absolutely no sense to her either. "Well," he said. "You're here now, I suppose. What is your name? We can't keep calling you blondie."

The Neo-Viking raised her head again. "Sunniva," she spoke softly.

"No family name?" asked Kirk.

"Not anymore," she replied solemnly.

"Fair," said Kirk. "I'll leave it to Irrena as acting boatswain to assign you a job. I'll be fair, you're not going to be very popular on this ship for a while. You're going to have to work hard to earn the crew's trust… and mine. And I suggest you avoid Copperhead for a while."

Sunniva nodded grimly, but this seemed like a woman whom enjoyed a challenge, any challenge. For some reason, Kirk considered that she just might come to surprise him in the future. Irrena, in the meantime, was already waiting for Sunniva by the door. With wand in hand, there was an angry scowl on her face. "Oi, muscle-bitch," she started, pointing at the hallway. "I hope you're good at scrubbing blood off decks, because the poor girl your bitch-queen maimed left quite a trail behind her. Think you can clean up messes as well as you make them?!"

Sunniva narrowed her eyes. "I did no…." she started to protest, but quickly changed her mind and simply sighed, moving to follow Irrena into the corridor.

Chiputec seemed unsure of himself for a moment, until the captain clapped him on the shoulder. "Cap'n," he started. "Even without her axe, I bet she could smash all three of us into a pulp without blinking an eye."

"Somehow," said Kirk. "I don't think she will."

A crackle sounded at their feet as a wasp teleported in through the floor from a deck below. Infinite Corridor hovered before him, looking expectingly. "Ah," said Kirk. "My turn, then? Tell Big-Mouth I'll be right there."

The wasp turned a circle around his own axis before dipping down to the floor and teleporting back to the deck below. Captain Kirk and Chiputec left and the moment they had stepped through the door, he was accosted by Eleanor Snowbell. The old witch had a concern etched on her face and it seemed she had been pacing back and forth in front of his cabin. He gave Chiputec a nod and the large man took the hint. Instantly, Eleanor was upon him the moment they had left his quarters. "You are letting her stay?!" she hissed.

"What do you expect me to do? Throw her overboard?" he said while walking towards the stairs leading down to the crew deck.

"That would be a good start!" Eleanor replied. "Or just put in a sloop let her paddle back to the mainland!"

"That's a death sentence and you know it," said the captain as they walked down the stairs. "And we would lose one of our two sloops to boot! They are a precious resource and we need both! We could, of course, make a detour to drop her off…"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" The old witch looked at her with a madness in her eyes as she followed him into sickbay. "We don't have the time to spare! I don't have the time to spare!"

The captain took in the look of the sickbay. Big-Mouth had been busy treating the injured crewmen and the only ones still there were miss Black and Beodul. Miss Black looked, in one word, awful. Three pails of spilt tainted blood stood next to the operating table where the girl has been lain. The girl's skin was ashen grey, she looked sickly, pale and close to death. This would be the third transfusion she would receive today and blood was still seeping out of her, despite the tourniquet, despite the blood-soaked bandages on her arm. Miss Granger and two others were working hard to find a solution to break this curse and he could only hope that they would succeed. Until then, he would gladly give of his blood.

Beodul was there as well, his arm still broken. The goblin might be shouty and gruff, but beneath that exterior lay a well-hidden heart of gold. No doubt the goblin had refused treatment until all the others had had their turn.

His eyes also fell on the small body covered with a white cloth lain on the second stretcher.

"I'll just get the transfusion started and then you'll start on your arm, Beodul," said Big-Mouth.

"About bloody time, ye scabrous blood-sucker," Beodul answered gruffly. "One out of ten, would not seek medical treatment here again."

"What earned me the one point?"

"The bowl of lime-flavoured lollipops on the counter."

Kirk grimaced when the doctor inserted the needle in his arm. Being elevated, gravity did the rest. His blood filled the tube, crimson red crawling down to the other needle where it entered the poor girl's bloodstream. He'd like to think that would give miss Black some much needed relief. Eleanor was upon him again, not so much as even giving the girl a look. "When will we continue on our journey?" she demanded, eyes shining with fury.

"Eleanor," the captain started. "Need I remind you I am the ship's master, not you. And I am seriously considering turning this ship around and heading for the nearest port. We were lucky not to get slaughtered or taken as thralls today. And we will have one person seriously injured and one crewmember dead."

"Crewmember?!" Eleanor threw her hands up into the air. "What crewmember? It's just a wasp!"

Stone cold silence fell over the sickbay, as everyone conscious stared at her in disbelief. "Just a wasp?" started Beodul. "Seagull was one of us! Ye don't give a flying bollock whether we live of die, don't ye?! As long as ye get to search for your bloody ancient myth, it don't matter if we be losin' some people along the way, right?!"

Eleanor frozen, having realized her faux-pas. Her head turned from Beodul, to the captain, to Big-Mouth, but found not a single shred of sympathy or support. She finally sighed. "I… I am sorry," she said, rubbing her forehead. "It's been a very… stressful morning and I… I am not myself."

"I will pretend I never heard you say that about Seagull," said Kirk angrily. "And, for your sake, I remind you never to express that sentiment in front of Copperhead. Or any other member of this crew for that matter. We will continue on our voyage, provided the ship is in good enough shape after inspection and provided the poor girl lying next to me survives. The Neo-Viking will stay on board for now. And that is my decision. Take it or leave it."

Eleanor grit her jaw and nodded, before turning around and storming off in a huff.

Beodul cradled his arm as he hopped up to the bench where the doctor could finally treat his broken bones. "Scabrous bint," he muttered. "I'm starting to like this expedition less and less, cap'n."

"So do I, Beodul," said Kirk as he took another glance at the dying girl next to him, her chest slowly rising with every laboured breath. "So do I."

Finding Chandra and Tahki had been easy. Reconfiguring half of Chandra's machines had been harder by far and had taken longer than Hermione would have liked. What Hermione wanted to do, was to take precise readings from objects inside the lab, which was something these machines were never designed for. Thankfully, Chandra and Tahki had an idea for a work-around on how to turn machines made for extreme long-distance tracking to being able to do extreme short-distance analysis. The next hour was spent taking measurements from tissue samples from her arm, blood samples from Bellatrix and cursed dagger itself. Though Hermione was getting more and more worried as time passed, she forced herself to keep calm. This was no time to panic, after all. She needed to stay focused.

While Chandra had put the dagger under the spectroscope and the machines were whirring again, Tahki kept an eye on the consoles.

"Easy now," said Tahki while wiping the sweat from her brow as the room had gotten considerably hot. "It's the wooden enclosures. Daisy-chaining the spectrometer, the astrolabe and the aitiascope together is creating a stupid amount of heat. I told you steel is better."

"Not for normal operations," returned Chandra.

"You know, I never asked, but where were you anyway?" said Tahki. "Those Neo-Viking assholes never did find you."

"Believe it or not, I was just in here, behind the aitiascope's console," returned Chandra. The witch was bent over the spectroscope, her rather impressive cleavage in danger of spilling out of her dress. Hermione turned to look to the aitiascope and indeed saw a bit of a gap between it and the hull. And from the door, it would be in a rather dark corner of the room. It could certainly hide as person from someone when that someone was not searching very hard. "I figured I'd stay hidden. I've heard stories about those Neo-Vikings so I wasn't in any hurry to be found. Hm, Tahki, could you double check these figures for me? I'm rather intrigued here."

Hermione paid them no mind, as she was busy setting up for another round. The idea behind finding a curse for Bellatrix was relatively simple, yet annoyingly time-consuming. The idea was to bombard Bellatrix' dagger with magical energy of different kind of spectrums, catching the resultant magical radiation on a magically-sensitive sheet of paper and then doing the same with blood and tissue samples from Bellatrix. The idea of this was to find a magical resonance which would be the polar opposite to magical resonance of the curse, then infuse medicinal potions with that same opposite resonance to counteract the worst effects and perhaps negate the curse entirely.

This was curse-breaking 101: a strictly methodical way of peeling away the layers of the curse until they reached the core of it. Fortunately, Chandra had quite a bit of experience at curse-breaking and the machinery here was state of the art.

Hermione thought of her own cursed wound: after her liberation, her body had been battered, broken and bruised. Fortunately, her wound hadn't been deep enough for the curse to spread through her entire body, but Bellatrix wasn't so lucky. Still, her cursed wound could come in helpful by adding her own tissue samples to the mix. With a third branch of analysis, they could try to skip a few steps and this could spare them hours of work.

While Hermione was blasting the cursed dagger with another dose of magical radiation, she could hear Tahki let out a deep sigh. "Chandra, tell me we didn't mix up one of the results, because this is not possible."

"That's just it, I checked it five times over," replied Chandra. "These are definitely the results from Hermione's tissue sample. And these are definitely from Bellatrix. I checked the machines just as many times."

"Shit," said Tahki. "I don't feel or see any difference either. That can mean only one thing."

Hermione took the paper from the rack to place it with the rest when she found the others looking at the aitascope with a rather befuddled look on their face. After putting down the paper in the spectrometer, she turned to them. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Chandra bit her lip. "Hermione," she started. "We've looked over the results multiple times and it's unmistakable. Looking at the tissue samples from both you and Bellatrix, and cross-referencing it with the results from the dagger, both the curses in your bodies have the same source. This very dagger."

Hermione blinked. "What?" she exclaimed. "That's impossible! You must have mixed up the samples."

"Not really," said Tahki. "You see, that's what we thought too at first, but we double-checked. Papers are clearly marked. Samples are clearly marked. It's the same resonance in all cases. Both your curses have the same source."

"That can't be," said Hermione. "I received this cursed wound in 1998 at Malfoy Manor. This dagger was at Catterborough Woodhouse at the time, with all of Trix' personal belongings sent home from Hogwarts. It was in a magically sealed chest that wasn't opened until 2001!"

"I don't know what to tell you," shrugged Tahki. "Maybe this dagger had a twin?"

"Can't be," said Chandra. "Every curse has a unique magical resonance. Even if there was some sort of manufacturing plant churning out identically cursed daggers, none of them would be the same. Hell, if two cursed daggers identical to the number of molecules would have been enchanted at the same time within a nano-second of either other, there would still be a resonance variance. We're not seeing that resonance variance here. All we see is a slight resonance drift due to the difference in age when applied, but that's well within the margins of error. There can be only one conclusion."

"That both curses," said Hermione, "applied years apart, had their source in the same dagger. A dagger which, in 1998, Rodolphus Lestrange couldn't have had access to."

"Maybe he stole it?" suggested Tahki. "From Hogwarts just after Bellatrix had disappeared? Maybe it was returned to Catterborough Woodhouse after the end of the war? Aunt Druella would know."

Hermione bit her lip. "That's the only explanation I can think of that makes any actual sense. Sadly, we can't ask Druella at the moment. And while this is an intriguing mystery, it's one we don't have time for."

"We are in agreement there," said Chandra. "Though we have lost our shortcut, there's at least a slight silver lining that we have discovered this now before we would have wasted more precious time on it. The downside…"

"… is that we'll be here for a few hours more," Tahki finished. "Let's get to work then."

And got to work they did. The three of them worked diligently and around the clock to pin down the specific counter-resonance needed to save Bellatrix' life. After an exhausting six hours, they finally managed to do so. After that, it was thankfully very easy to infuse a blood-replenishing potion and a dittany-ointment salve with the counter-resonance. Hermione didn't waste any time.

With potion and ointment in hand, Hermione made her way to sickbay a deck below Chandra's workstation. On the way there, she was surprised to encounter the captured Neo-Viking, now clad in an apron and on her knees vigorously scrubbing Trix' spilled blood from the deck. Hermione didn't have time to dwell on whatever strange travels Trix' cursed dagger had taken while she'd been busy working on the cure and rushed into the sickbay.

There, doctor Big-Mouth was waiting for her, still up while the sun had finally risen, though the sickbay with its porthole painted black meant he was quite safe. The vampire looked tired but had been monitoring Trix. And, god, poor Trix looked so awful. Despite the many transfusions, Trix had been fighting a losing battle against exsanguination. Five pails of tainted blood stood at the table's side and Trix looked downright emaciated. Her breathing was shallow and the bloody bandages still had blood seeping through them.

"Here they are," said Hermione. "Both a blood-replenishing potion and healing ointment, specifically infused to treat this very curse."

"Good work," said the vampire. He moved to remove the bloody bandages, exposing the deep cuts in her arm making up the word 'PURE' and not surprisingly still finding them oozing. He swiftly rubbed the ointment over the wounds. It helped to relieve the pain and the wounds actually started closing. Unfortunately, the curse was still fighting back.

"She's lucky," said the vampire. "Doesn't seem to be any damage to her tendons. I'll introduce the potion directly into her bloodstream."

With the IV-needle still in Bellatrix' arm from the last transfusion, the vampire attached the tube and gently let the potion flow into it by hanging the bottle upside down after attaching it to the IV. Hermione watched the red potion slide down the tube and enter Trix' body.

Her girlfriend's shallow breathing shuddered briefly when the potion started to do its thing inside her body. Her chest rose further, taking in a deep tug of breath. Some colour returned to her cheeks and she literally seemed to be breathing easier. The wounds on her arm finally started to close, sadly not without leaving nasty scarring. But Hermione knew having such a cursed wound was relatively easy to live with.

"Some open wounds left, but some good old-fashioned stitches will do the trick there. You did good," said the vampire. "Now it's up to her."

Relief watched over Hermione as she sat down on the stool next to Bellatrix and, for the first time, felt just how tired she was. Being woken up early during the raid, then the stress of watching Bellatrix being mutilated and then working against the clock to find a cure for Bellatrix… it had all taken a toll on her. It was oddly cathartic to see the vampire calmly stitching up the last stragglers of wounds on her arm while Bellatrix seemed to be breathing easier with every minute.

"I want to keep Bellatrix here in sickbay for observation," said the vampire after applying the stitches and a fresh set of bandages. "And you look like you could use some sleep yourself. Why don't you return to your cabin and get some rest?"

Hermione glanced over to Bellatrix. "I don't think I could."

"I'll mix you a potion that'll help you sleep," said the vampire. "You have no excuses left."

"Thank you," nodded Hermione, letting out a yawn. "Could I have some time with her?"

"Of course," said the vampire. "I'll be at the library if you need me. It's only the place on the crew deck without portholes."

She watched the vampire leave, closing the door behind him. Once she was alone, she gently took hold of Bellatrix' hand and squeezed gently. Her skin was soft and still a bit cold to the touch. Her other hand, she ran through curly hair. She had hoped for a response, to see Trix slowly open her eyes so she could gaze into those dark orbs while a smile would form on her soft lips. Sadly, her wish did not come true.

"Well," said Hermione. "Here we are. Funny, really. It never really occurred to me that I could have actually lost you until now, when you're safe. I suppose I didn't have time to think about it."

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I… I can't really imagine my life without you anymore. Sure, sometimes you infuriate me to the brink of madness, and I'm sure that feeling is mutual at the best of times. But when I think back to meeting that quirky and lonely girl I saw staring back at me from the Fae Mirror, I never could have imagined the wild and wonderful twists both our lives would take."

A tear started to roll over her cheek. "I want you in my future, Trix. And I know you want to build a future with me. Offspring is part of that, I guess. And I know how important family is to you. But I've always balked at the very idea of having children. It's not…"

She sighed briefly.

"… it's not you, it's me. Such a cliche, I know. But it's true. I'm not alright. I know I'm not alright. I'll probably never be alright. I still have night terrors, I still tense up whenever someone steps close to me, I'm still in much needed therapy and I still use work as a way to shut myself out. When we fought those Neo-Vikings, Trix, it was as if I was a passenger in my own body. I moved without thinking, as if I was on autopilot. And I have no doubt that I would have killed that man without hesitation if it had come to it and wouldn't have shed a tear about it. Does that sound like someone who's right in the head, Trix?"

More tears followed. "Does that sound like someone who should be a mother? Oh yeah, there's your mum, sweetie. The PTSD riddled, workaholic, delusional basketcase who might snap and go berserk whenever a car muffler backfires. Mother of the year right there. That's why I've always tried to tell you that we're… that I'm not ready for children."

Bellatrix lay utterly silent as she held her hand. That was, perhaps, for the best.

"Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of having a family with you," said Hermione. "But I'm not ready. I'm not sure I'll ever be. And if you were awake right now, I'm sure you'd tell me I am talking bollocks. That you think I'd be a wonderful mother regardless. And how much you want to have children with me. Three sisters. With an unbreakable bond…"

Hermione took another deep breath, feeling the melancholy inside of her.

"Five years I've been working on myself. After five years, I still feel as if I've made no progress," Hermione sniffed. "I know I should be happy. I have everything. I have two loving families, a good career, respect and I have you. So why do I still feel as if my life is a lie? Why do I still feel as if I don't deserve to be alive? Why do I feel as if I don't deserve to be loved by you? Why do I still feel as if I'm fighting a war with myself?"

Sobbing now, Hermione held her head in her hands. "And why am I such a coward that I'm only telling you this now that you can't hear me or talk back? But you are the reason I'm still going on, Trix. I can't bear the thought of living in a world without you in it. I'm sorry that I'm such a coward. I'm sorry that I can't do better for you," said Hermione, taking a moment to bend forward and kiss the sleeping Bellatrix on the lips. Soft, warm, welcoming lips, along with the knowledge that Bellatrix wouldn't be leaving her behind all alone today.

The door opened, causing Hermione to swiftly withdraw and dry her tears. Half expecting to see the doctor, she was instead met with Nymphadora, Tahki and Chandra stood in the doorframe.

"How's the patient doing?" asked Chandra.

"Fine, she… she's going to be fine," Hermione sobbed slightly.

Nymphadora was at her side immediately and clapped her on the shoulder. "Hey, chin up," she said.

"Good to know our hard work paid off," said Chandra as she kept to the hallway. "But we do have to restore the machines back to their original settings and recalibrate them. Tahki, will you swing by to help with that later?"

Tahki nodded, seemingly less than happy about that, but keeping her mouth shut about it. And just like that, Chandra strolled back into the hallway without saying another word. Nymphadora watched her go for a moment, furrowing her brow. "Is it just me or is the sciency tit lady a bit socially awkward, yeah?"

"It's not just you," said Tahki. "We can't all be outgoing in-your-face annoying like you, Nymph. And Chandra has a name, by the way."

Nymphadora rolled her eyes. "Of course, I know she has a name, Chief Shitting Bull! But nicknames are fun!"

"That's Chief SITting Bull, you Britbong retard! Ugh!" Tahki rolled her eyes.

"I know, but my version is funnier."

"I'll give you that one. And I'll give you a nickname too. As of today, your name will be Bullshitting Raccoon. Because you're full of shit, you're annoying and garbage goes both in and comes out of your mouth!"

"I can live with that!"

Both girls were surprised to hear laughter coming from Hermione. The brown-haired witch's body was shaking with tears in her eyes, tears of joy this time. "Thanks," she uttered between gales of laughter. "I really, really needed that right now."

"Hey, a little bantz makes the world go round, yeah?" said Nymphadora. "You'll be happy to know the ship's in fine shape. No leaks or anything and we picked up a new seven foot tall cleaning maid. Still, it's fucking balls that we lost…"

Her gaze wondered to the little body covered by the white sheet. All girls fell silent for a moment.

"Poor Seagull," said Hermione.

"Poor Copperhead too," said Nymphadora. "He's taking it very hard. I should go see if he's doing well."

"And I should probably go help out 'sciency tit lady' before she comes to fetch me," added Tahki.

"I should probably get some rest," added Hermione. "Trix too. It's been… a rather difficult day."

For the first time today, Hermione felt just how tired and hungry she was. The sleeping potion had one half covered, but that left her rumbling stomach in the dust. Fortunately, Haema was kind enough to provide her with a little bit of takeaway. So back at her cabin, she unpacked her dinner which consisted of a bowl of tonight's paella, a batch of hard-tack and some cherry juice. She had just set up her food on the small writing desk and was about to dig in when Zipper came buzzing in through the door.

"Hey, where you have you been?" asked Hermione when the wasp landed on her lap. "Helping out the crew?"

Together they ate dinner, with Zipper making sure there were no leftovers to worry about. The brown-haired witch let out a yawn and moved to close the door, holding it open as she was expecting the wasp to fly to sickbay. Zipper hovered in front of her, cocking his head quizzically. With a crackle, he teleported to sit on top of the pillow. "You think I need you more, hm?" Hermione smiled to the wasp and closed the door. After switching to her warm sleep-wear, she downed the potion and crawled into bed. The wasp hopped onto her chest just as she tucked herself in and got comfortable.

The small bed felt very large and very cold without having Trix in it with her. The potion started to kick in, leaving just enough time for her to roll to her side and cuddle Zipper before she drifted up in a merciful sleep without worries or dreams.